The Games of Olympus
by Meggie Lupin
Summary: Look, I didn't want to be a tribute. It's dangerous. You've got a twenty-three to one ratio of survival, cause of death? Horrifyingly, excruciating pain, brought on by tributes, monsters, or the Gods. - A Percy Jackson/Hunger Games crossover, in which your favorite demigods fight to the death for the entertainment of the Gods.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Anything you see and or recognize, is not mine. It belongs to the wonderful authors who are letting me play with their stories, Rick Riordan and Suzanne Collins.

Look, I didn't want to be a tribute.

It's dangerous. You've got a twenty-three to one ratio of survival, cause of death? Horrifyingly, excruciating pain, brought on by tributes, monsters, or the Gods.

If you think you might want to be a tribute, (eternal fame and glory, sounds great right?) think again. Run when you've got the chance. Make it out of Camp, head to Olympus, and never look back. And if you don't?

Well, don't say I didn't warn you.

My name is Percy Jackson. I'm seventeen years old, and the Demigod son of Poseidon.

Until a few weeks ago, I was just your average kid. Living and training at Camp with all of the other children of the Gods.

It all started on the day of the Reaping.

I woke up at eight. Later than usual, but to be expected on a day like today. There was no training, lessons or chores, and everyone was excused from the 5:00am wake-up call that we were usually met with.

Rolling out of bed, I found my cabin to be empty. Typical, considering I had only one other sibling, my half-brother Tyson. Part God, Part Nymph, and all Cyclops.

He's about six foot-three of pure muscle, messy dark hair on his lopsided head, and a single brown eye taking center stage on his face. Ferocious right?

Only if you're afraid of overly large teddy bears with a death grip. What can I say, he's a hugger.

Knowing Tyson, he'd woken up early, cleaned the cabin, and gone off to find some Horses or Fish to play with. (It's a son of the sea god sort of thing, you know?) Which meant I was left to my own devices for the morning. _Great_.

What comes first on the regime of the day you're going to be chosen as one of twenty-four to be murdered on live television for the entertainment of your extended family and their friends? Bathing sounds about right.

Stretching heartily, I made my way to the bathroom, pulling a towel from the shelf (courtesy of Tyson), and had myself a long, warm, delightful shower. Water is a good healer for me. I think it comes with the whole, son of a sea god thing, but I've always been drawn to water and the ocean. This morning was no different. Standing underneath the warm stream of the shower, I almost forgot about the Reaping. Almost.

You're probably wondering what exactly I'm talking about. What in Zeus's name is a Reaping?

I'll tell you, it's probably the most anxiety inducing day in any Demigod's life. It's the day when two names are pulled from each "lucky" Cabin, and those names? They're attached to people, who are then sent to Olympus to compete for their Godly parent's honor. Sounds great right?

Wrong. This, "competition" happens to be a fight to the death on live television; twenty-four kids are thrown into an arena, with weapons, monsters and the elements. If you survive, you get eternal fame and glory, you win your parents praise, and you go back to your Cabin, _a hero_.

If you die, well, it's all part of the games isn't it?

I've been lucky so far. As long as I've been alive and capable of competing, Poseidon hasn't had to offer up a child for tribute, it was all a game of luck for the most part. While kids are chosen from each Cabin, so are the Gods from Olympus.

Each year the Gods convene together in the main throne room on Olympus, and choose who will offer up the lucky competitors for the Games.

But this year, it's the 50th annual games, and as a part of the plans, all twelve Olympians must offer up their tributes. (Save for Hera, because you know, _abstinent_, in her place is Hades, god of the Dead.)

Which means I've got certain death on my head. As the only actual Demigod son of Poseidon, I'm certain to end up in the Arena, and as the only other claimed son of Poseidon, so is my brother Tyson.

Fame and glory sounds great when you've got to kill your family, doesn't it?

Kicking the bathroom door open, I scrub the towel over my head, I don't have to, I can repel water if I want, but something about drying my hair with a towel feels normal, and keeps my stomach from twisting quite so tightly. Dressing in my reaping best; the typical orange Camp shirt, and the cleanest shorts I can find.

Showered, dressed, and with a mildly, rumbling stomach, I head outside, and towards the dining pavilion, a large open area, made up of a marble slab, and marble pillars. Everything about it screamed Greek, from the completely marble picnic tables, to the bronze brazier sitting in the center where we kids pay tribute to the Gods.

Sitting myself down at the (empty) Poseidon table, I grabbed some fruit and cereal from a passing tree Nymph, and asked my cup for water. It was typical to scrape part of your meal in the brazier, but with the games overhead, and the fact that I was almost certain to die, I didn't particularly feel like paying tribute this morning.

Sipping from the glass, I glanced around the pavilion. Despite the fact that it was early for Reaping, everyone else already seemed to have made their way through. There were a few stragglers, including Will who I recognized from the Apollo Cabin, and Chiron, the Camp's leader and trainer; otherwise, the pavilion was mostly empty.

I wanted to eat, I should've eaten. But my stomach was doing this odd twisting motion, something particularly unpleasant, and although the food looked good, I didn't think my stomach could handle it. Not with the way I was chugging my water so desperately.

Giving a small nod to Will, (who waved slightly in response), I left the dining hall. It was an hour until the official Reaping ceremony began, but timing was everything, right?

With that thought in mind I glanced towards the amphitheater, before making the short trek down to the beach.

Long Island Sound is beautiful, even on days as like this one. Blue crashing waves, white sand, and clear skies all around. Despite that, the beach was typically empty, something I could never grasp.

It was my favorite place in all of Camp, which was saying something, considering how much I enjoyed the food here. But it remained empty for the most part, which is why I was surprised to find someone else seated in my favorite spot.

Leaving my sandals at the end of the beach, I made my way slowly towards the other person.

Curly blonde hair waved in the slight breeze, and tan skin provided a nice contrast to the pure white of the sand the girl was sitting on. Even before her head turned to face me, I knew who she was.

"Annabeth, what, what are you doing here?" I spluttered, as she turned and smiled at me, her grey eyes shining.

"You don't own the beach, Seaweed Brain." She muttered, smirking, as I dropped to the sand beside her. "And I was waiting for you."

"Well, technically-" I started, only to be shoved sideways by the now laughing girl. "Were you waiting long then?"

"No. Not really." Was her murmured answer, as I felt her head drop onto my shoulder.

Annabeth Chase, ladies and gentlemen. Just about the greatest person on the face of the planet, and my best friend. We've been friends since we were twelve, something considered to be a miracle, since she's a daughter of Athena, the one Goddess who happens to be the sworn enemy of my father. We shouldn't work as friends, but somehow, we did.

"So, why were you waiting for me?" I didn't want to break the pleasant silence between us, but when you suffer from ADHD, it's sort of hard to keep thoughts from being more than just thoughts.

Annabeth was quiet for a moment, but eventually she answered.

"I thought, I figured you might want somewhere to go, someone to talk to, before, before the ceremony."

"Annabeth-"

"No, Percy, look, I get that you probably want to play hero, and act like everything's going to be all right, but it's not-" I turned my face sideways, pressing my nose into her hair, trying desperately to pretend that I had imagined her voice cracking. "You're going into the arena Percy, with a one in twenty-four chance of survival." I inhaled deeply at her next words. "I don't think I like those odds."

"Annabeth…" I murmured, eyes crammed shut. "You're in just as much danger as I am, I mean, honestly, how many times is your name in there?"

"That's not the point Percy! I have a chance, you don't." My head fell on empty air, and when I opened my eyes, it was to see Annabeth staring at me, her face slightly panicked. "I can't lose you."

"You're not going to, okay?" I cry, watching Annabeth work herself up, with no way to bring her back down. "You're not going to lose me, I promise."

"Don't Percy," Annabeth's eyes locked on mine, her voice low and slightly broken. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

A conch shell sounded, and Annabeth's eyes ripped away from mine. "That'll be the bell." I muttered, easing my way onto my feet. Annabeth did the same at my side, and I reached out my hand towards her. She took it, intertwining her fingers with mine, as I tugged her down the beach, towards the amphitheater, towards the reaping.

* * *

The amphitheater was filled, surprise, surprise; as Annabeth and I took our seats. Sitting in the middle of the theater, between two Hecate kids, I surveyed our surroundings.

At the front, on the stage, sat twelve glass bowls, all of them colored to represent their Godly counterpart-silver for Artemis, yellow for Apollo, red for Ares…

I knew almost immediately which was meant for Poseidon, a greenish blue colored bowl, one that almost exactly matched my eyes in its color sat in the center stage, between Zeus's sky blue and Hade's black. The glass was the color of the sea; you could almost say it was the color of my death, if you really want to get morbid about it.

I felt Annabeth's fingers tense around my own, and I realized I'd been squeezing her hand a little too tightly. Her thumb rubbed circles into the back of my hand, something which I knew was supposed to be peaceful for me, (and possibly for her too), but only lead me to desperately morbid thoughts that I couldn't wish away. I wanted to say something to her, let her know how much I needed her, how much I was thankful she'd been my friend. _My best friend_. But I was cutoff before I could even open my mouth.

"Welcome brats, to the fiftieth annual Olympus Games." That'd be Mr. D, also known as the all and mighty God, Dionysus. He's got a rounded belly, curly dark hair, and a red nose in the middle of his face. Everything about him screams drinker, which is no surprise, considering he's the God of wine.

What's the God of wine doing presenting the Reaping, you ask? Stories say that Zeus sent him here as punishment for chasing a certain Nymph. Whether or not that's true, I don't know, but I do know, him being here was definitely a punishment.

"As you know, the Games are meant as a great honor, the greatest honor we Olympians can bestow upon you. And as a part of that honor, comes the time in which we choose the tributes to compete." Mr. D gave the crowd a toothy smile, something I knew was meant more for the Olympian viewers watching from their TVs. "As per tradition, we shall choose the tributes in descending order, from most powerful to least, starting the ceremony, shall be the children of Zeus, onto Poseidon, then Hades, and so on, until all twenty-four tributes have been claimed."

Mr. D stepped up to the sky blue bowl, seated in the center of the stage. Plunging his hand in, he pulled out a slip of paper, and read it aloud. "Thalia Grace, the first tribute of Zeus!"

My eyes sought out Thalia, as the crowd broke out into a round of polite applause-there, stepping onto the stage, with spiky black hair, and what I knew to be bright blue eyes was Thalia, daughter of Zeus. I'd known the girl since we were thirteen, and I felt bad for her, to say the least. She was one of two Zeus kids, the other; her godly _and_ mortal brother would be going to the Games with her.

Thalia stood straight and tall, something I respected her greatly for, as Dionysus read off the name of the second Zeus tribute. "Jason Grace, the second tribute of Zeus!"

My eyes followed Thalia's, as blonde haired Jason stepped onto the stage, and took his place beside his sister. Polite applause sounded throughout the theater, and Mr. D moved on to the next bowl. _My bowl_.

Dipping his hands into the glass, he withdrew a small paper slip, and I felt Annabeth's hand clench mine desperately. She wasn't ready to let go. Quite frankly, I don't think I was either.

"The first tribute of Poseidon," Mr. D cried, arm waving wildly in means to play up the excitement. "The Cyclops, Tyson."  
I whistled appreciatively, we may be doomed, but that was my baby brother making his way to the stage, and Gods be damned if I don't show how proud of his composure I am. And I was proud, Tyson was known for his telltale emotions, and yet, he wasn't shaking, hardly batted an eye at his name. He just lumbered up the steps, and stood behind Dionysus, smiling serenely.

Annabeth's nails were now digging into my palm, and I loosened my grip ever so slightly, if only to make it easier when my name was called. Dionysus cleared his throat, and held up the second slip, smiling delightedly. I knew how long he'd been waiting for this day, how long he'd been waiting to get rid of me, so it was no shocker that he seemed actually happy to be reading someone's name out.

"The second tribute of Poseidon, Percy Jackson!"

I pulled my hand out of Annabeth's, who tried, (almost successfully), to keep me seated. Standing to the polite applause, I made my way down to the stage. My entire body was buzzing. I had been expecting that. To hear my name. It was inevitable. So why did I feel so incredibly-incredibly numb?

_Because you're going to die_, I think.

I wish I could stop thinking.

I don't remember much for most of the Reaping. I hear names being called, Nico Di Angelo and Hazel Levesque for Hades. Katie Gardner and Miranda Gardiner for Demeter. Dakota Harke and Pollux Warren for Dionysus. Will Solace and Kayla Tiller for Apollo. Phoebe Jamison and Allison Jones for Artemis. Travis and Connor Stoll for Hermes.

It wasn't until Dionysus reached the bowl for Athena that I tuned back into the proceedings completely.

"The first tribute of Athena," He drawls, reaching leisurely into the bowl before him, and drawing out a slip of paper, as I watch on, heart pounding desperately. _Not Annabeth_, I pray, _please, please not Annabeth_. "Is Malcolm Keller."

I sighed in relief, before the moment catches up to me. One name. There was one more name. One more tribute of Athena. I watch as Mr. D dips his hand into the bowl, swirling the notes inside of it around, before pulling one out, painfully slow.

"The second tribute of Athena," he states, and I feel my skin crawl, something is wrong. Something is very wrong. "Is Annabeth Chase."

My heart shuddered to a stop.

I searched the crowd quickly, deftly, looking for her.

I met her gaze as she stepped onto the stage, her grey eyes wide and panicked, as she stared back at me.

_Nyssa Hearne and Leo Valdez for Hephaestus.  
__Drew Tanaka and Piper Mclean for Aphrodite.  
__Frank Zhang and Clarisse La Rue for Ares._

The rest of the ceremony followed in a blur. My head and heart were pounding so harshly, I could hardly hear myself think, let alone hear Dionysus as he called the remaining tributes to the stage.

Everything about this was wrong. The games, the ceremony, Annabeth being on stage with me. _It wasn't supposed to happen_. And yet it had.

"_I present to you, the twenty-four tributes, for this year's fiftieth annual Olympus Games! May the odds be ever in their favor!"_

**AN:** Thank you for reading the first chapter of my Percy Jackson/Hunger Games crossover. Tell me what you think in the reviews, and keep an eye out for the next chapter! xx -Meg


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Anything you see and or recognize, is not mine. It belongs to the wonderful authors who are letting me play with their stories, Rick Riordan and Suzanne Collins.

You'd expect some big send off for Olympus's finest—a feast, a party, at the very least a moment to say goodbye to the ones you love, a moment to wrap your mind around the fact that _you could die_.

That's what you'd expect—but it's nothing like what you actually get, which is shuffled off stage, single file, and led straight out of the arena. There's no chance for anything to sink in. To grasp exactly what it is that's happening, _what's going to happen._

There's just a dull buzzing, which might be the ADHD part of my mind—but more likely comes from the silver train we're being led towards.

It's large—and fast, the train that is. It typically only comes around camp once a month, every third Saturday at noon, to stock the camp with supplies, but on a special day like today? It arrives bright and early, ready to bring the "eager" tributes straight to Olympus.

The train is nice—from what I've heard. It's stocked with all kinds of delicacies we campers have never had the pleasure to taste, and probably never will again. The beds are supposedly all filled with goose feathers, and covered with sheets of the finest cotton known to man. It's the epitome of luxury for kids who have grown up living in run down cabins with meals that are only just enough.

The Gods think they're being generous, allowing us to travel in such a luxury on the week long journey from Camp to Olympus—but it's like keeping a pig for slaughter. Feed him till he's fat and happy—then _bam!_ Slice his head off when he least expects it.

Call me crazy—but, I don't feel like playing the role of the pig. I'd rather go into the games never knowing what I was missing, than dying thinking my life had only been worthwhile when I had 'Olympus' privilege. So the fact that I want to believe that the stories are just that, _stories,_ makes sense. But that's like trying to believe that I'm not a tribute, or that I won't have to kill someone to get out of these games alive.

A slight gasp sounds from behind me, which comes as no surprise considering the interior is nicer than could possibly describe.

Gold plated walls sheen brightly, newly polished for the journey. A crystal chandelier hangs low over head, and I have to pull Tyson to the side so as to avoid him knocking his head on it, or worse, batting at it because of its shine.

Everything within the train is pristine, (now that's a word I never thought I'd get to use), from the golden flooring, newly waxed, to the mahogany table that resides opposite the doorway, where a fresh vase of orchids rests. I have a strange feeling that if I were to run my finger along any one of these surfaces, it would come off cleaner than before.

Just as my thoughts start leading astray, Mr. D clears his throat, and with a quick glance behind me, I realize that we've all made it onto the train. I manage to catch Annabeth's eye as I turn back around, and she offers me a weak smile as Mr. D begins to speak.

"Now my dear, _dear_ heroes, as you know you have been handpicked by the fates to compete in this year's games. And as you all must know, it is quite the honor to be picked any year, but this year even more so." Mr. D's lips curl up into a wicked grin, his eyes roving over each of us, daring us to answer. "No one? Really? Well, if I _must_ tell you…

"This year just so happens to be the fiftieth anniversary of the beginning of these games, which makes it a special privilege for those children of Olympians who get to compete." His grin slowly turns into a sneer, and as much as I desire not to, I fight to keep his gaze. "There are hundreds of other little horrors vying for your position—oh and, _good luck_."

Mr. D nods curtly at the lot of us, his mouth twisting sinisterly, before disappearing in a flourish of purple smoke, leaving behind the faint scent of grapes and a green vine, which I know _someone_ will be displeased about.

There's a moment of silence as we're left standing in the empty compartment, with no information as to where to go, and no, (albeit angry), god to lead us. Coming from a life as ordered as Camp, things like that don't exactly sit well, and it's easy to note in the uncomfortable shifting that everyone seems to be doing, and the small whimpers stemming from Tyson.

I'd like to say that I manned up and found a way out of there, or did something remotely helpful. But as usual Annabeth beat me to it.

Let me tell you one thing about Annabeth, she's great. Really great, I mean, she's the best friend I've ever had. But she can be a bit… _commanding_, even in the most intimidating of settings. Which is why it comes as no surprise that she opens her mouth the minute Mr. D disappears and no one arrives to take his place.

"Does anyone know anything about the train or where we're supposed to be on it?" She questions, moving out of the group, towards where Mr. D once stood.

"If we knew that don't you think we'd be there princess?" Clarisse sneers at her, but Annabeth merely glares in return.

I notice movement out of the corner of my eye, and turn my head towards it. It's the blonde son of Zeus—Jason, I believe, who has raising his hand in a rather sheepish manner. "Jason?" Annabeth calls—leave it to her to know exactly who he is—and the boy opens his mouth to speak.

"Last year, I um, I heard stories from some of the old Victors." He states, looking vaguely uncomfortable as all eyes shift towards him. "They told me that Dionysus-Mr. D does this every year. Said he gets a kick out of watching us scramble."

"Of course he does." Annabeth sighs, and I feel myself smile slightly at the exasperated expression on her face. "Right, well, did they say anything else? About what happens after he leaves?"

"They said that someone will usually come to fetch us," Jason nods slightly. "You know, after they realize we're waiting of course."

"Right, of course." Annabeth murmurs, nodding at Jason in thanks. "So I suppose we'll just have to wait then."

The others nod in general agreement, and it looks as though Clarisse is going to say something, but thinks better of it. That or one of the Stoll boys managed to pull her attention elsewhere. Glancing around, Annabeth folds her hands before her, and steps to the side, allowing me the perfect chance to sidle up beside her.

"Hey." I murmur. Because what else is there really to say?

"Hey." She returns, offering me a barely there smile, and a small squeeze of my hand.

"You handled that well." I state, hoping to relax her in some way. "I think I would've punched Clarisse if I had been in your position."

"I'd expect her to punch you first for trying to take charge." Annabeth mutters, loosening her grip on my fingers, and offering me a small glimmer of a smile. "You know how she feels about you."

"How she feels about me?" I question, raising a brow in mock confusion. "I'm afraid I don't, you'll have to lighten my memory, for its rather dull right now."

I can feel her rolling her eyes at me without even looking, but it brings about a sense of normalcy that I need, and I nudge her lightly with my arm. "Really though, you did well despite getting us absolutely no where."

"Shut up Seaweed Brain." I open my mouth to argue with her, prepared to shoot her down with some form of intelligence, when a soft creaking sounds through the room. Shutting my mouth promptly, I turn in the direction the sound stems from, and am met with a small body standing in a doorway just a few feet from where Tyson stands.

"Tributes," the body murmurs to our now, deathly silent room. "Please follow me."

**AN**: Long time no see, eh? I apologize for that, I'm not a very steady updater, something that you will soon learn. I'll try to keep better time than four/five months though, as I know what it's like to impatiently wait for a fic. I'm sorry if you find these first few chapters to be slow, but there's quite a bit we have to get through before we get to the Capitol, and bu extension the games, so you'll have to bear with me for a bit. As for the length, you may have noticed the first chapter was a fair bit longer, which is likely how it's going to be. I'll try to keep each chapter over that 1000 word mark, but some may be longer or shorter than others as needed.

Also, I'd like to say thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter—it means a lot when people take time to talk to you, you know? And while I won't answer all reviews each chapter, I will try to answer a few;

**Cspoon**: "_Good, but aren't some of them Roman?_" – Indeed they are my friend. I desired to use as few OCs as possible, which meant either using characters who had already died (which would spoil who is set to die during this fic) or use the Romans. I chose the Romans to keep up some mystery—and to make things a lot more personal. Killing off minor characters just doesn't hit as deep of a chord as mains do.

**Guest**: "_It was alright but please update! :D_" – Only alright? Oh how you wound me dear guest… Only teasing. Although I sure hope it was better than alright. Tell me, did this chapter meet your standards?

**xXxJaceInWonderlandxXx**: "_Are you going to have other pairings in here, or just Percabeth_?" – There will be other couples, and you can expect them to be canon as well. The main focus will be on Percabeth and overcoming the games though, so other ships will likely be minimal.

**Pinconeface7676**: "_I like it_" – Well there you have it folks, the jury is out, this story is liked, everyone may now leave—only joking mate. Glad you like it.

**Mariampjo**: "_Your_ _writing style was definitely influenced by Rick Riordan__hahahha, you made Percy as young and snarky as he does!_" – Heavily influenced mate, I took inspiration from the first lines and did my best, and while I can't quite live up to dear uncle Rick, I'm glad you find my version of Percy to be similar to his!

Until next time my loves—I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you think in a review, and I'll see you soon(ish). xx – Meg

P.S. I'll have you all know that I've decided a majority of who is set to die during this fic—although I won't be giving any away. Just know, you're likely in for an emotional ride. So I would suggest you hold on tight.


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